The Unknown
by Insane Logic
Summary: As in every story of Redwall, a squirrelmaid has a dream about Martin. Only this time he doesn't want her to warn the Redwallers. He wants her to stop the horde before it arrives. Aided by an indifferent rat, a strictly nonheroic vole.Full summary in. R
1. Chapter One: Waiting

**Full Summary:** As in every story of Redwall, a squirrelmaid has a dream about Martin. Only this time he doesn't want her to warn the Redwallers. He wants her to stop the horde before it arrives. Aided by a strictly non-heroic vole, an indifferent rat and a ferret, she finds herself in over her head. For the first time in her life, she's out in Mossflower Woods. And it's on an impossible mission to stop a four hundred member horde with four beasts, including herself.

**A/N: **Well, I'm redoing this story on account of the fact that not many people viewed it. I mean, -at all-. No one gave it a chance. It remains the same, with a few added details, a few deleted characters (or characters made less important) and a more focused idea in my mind. If you have any questions, comments or flames, please, feel free.

This chappie just introduces the main charries, and starts the story. Wow. Trust me, it'll get better.

Anyway, on with the story.

_Disclaimer: The whole Redwall universe belongs to Brian Jacques, along with any canon characters that may be mentioned or referenced. Most of the characters belong to me._

**Chapter One: Waiting**

**C**owan wondered absently what it was like to know who you're friends and enemies were. Sure, he was a liar, a backstabber and would, given the opportunity, snitch on somebeast to avoid any harm himself. After all, he really couldn't find it within himself to _like _anybeast in the horde. Of course, that didn't mean everybeast else had to do the same thing.

In some ways, Cowan supposed others envied the woodlanders. Not the Redwallers, for their peace-loving happy-go-lucky style. No. He'd never know why anybeast'd want to be _that_ happy. He did, however, suppose others would admire them for the fact that they knew who would stab them in an alley or who'd stick up for them in a tight spot.

Cowan? ...Really, Cowan didn't admire anybeast. He wondered what it would be like, but he truly didn't care. The truth was he cared about very little that went on around him, with the exception of any leftover food. True, he knew he perceived things his comrades obviously didn't, but he didn't care much about that either.

Of course, Cowan had an obvious distaste for one thing; hordes.

Cowan had problems to sort out with hordes. For one thing, Cowan had decided he was far too honest for horde life. Not in the honest 'I must tell him the truth or my morale code will be broken' way. Oh no, in a tight spot, he'd lie. It's just if somebeast asked him a question he'd absently tell them the truth. More in a 'what's the _point _in lying?' kind of way.

For instance, if somebeast asked him what he'd do in a hail of arrows, he'd tell them that he'd probably throw them in front of him. Besides. The truth kept beasts away from him and he rather preferred it that way. The whole problem with telling the truth was that it made other beasts want to smash your face in.

He also had a tendency to be sarcastic. Not on purpose. Not in a 'look at me defy authority' way. It was just the way he was. He supposed he could help it, but he didn't feel the motivation to do so. He didn't do it to be brave; he knew he was a coward. The fact was, Cowan _liked _his life in a vague sort of way. He was just too lazy to redirect his mind to an answer that _wasn't _the first to pop into his head.

Currently, insomnia nagged at his mind in the darkness of the camp grounds, keeping him awake in the chilly night air. The fires had all died out awhile back and the beast nearest to him was snoring loudly.

And so, his mind wandered in the stillness of the night.

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Laurel listened to the deafening silence. Thoughts whirled in a dizzying nonstop way through her head. Dressed in her nightgown, snuggled into the warm sheets of her bed and staring at the rather ordinary-looking ceiling, she absently wondered what was keeping her awake. Something felt different. Something hung dangerously in the night air like a forbidding cloud.

The squirrelmaid peered over to her roommate, a mousemaid two seasons younger, "Laurel?"

The mouse just whimpered and rolled over in her bed.

Sibley sat still, watching the ceiling once more. Just because she was having a hard time getting to sleep didn't mean she should disturb somebeast else's sleep. She lay back, waiting for sleep to overcome her and desperately wondering why it felt like she was waiting for something important.

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Nowles fancied himself a dark, mysterious figure who skulked in the shadows of the night. At least, that's what he'd always wanted to be. He was garbed in his usual dark brown fedora-esque hat and dark overcoat. No further mention need be made of the rest of his clothing because it followed the same pattern. He was slinking around the city in his usual manner. He didn't know why. It just felt good. It felt like what he was meant to do. For some reason, it made him feel like he was doing something important.

So, the ferret slunk along in the dark city streets, hat pulled over his eyes, generally feeling in his element.

That was why Nowles was considerably surprised when a large stoat grabbed him by the front of his tunic, "What's yer name?" he snarled, eyes coal black. Then again, it was probably the darkness of the streets that made them seem that way. Two thugs were behind the stoat, watching and waiting.

"Nowles. Prosper Nowles." replied the short ferret, jerking out of the stoat's grip and brushing himself off slightly.

"Huh. Sissy name." the stoat turned to the others, "Toldja it wuz 'im, d'int I?"

They nodded, slowly.

"Now, look you," the stoat addressing the ferret by a title he was often called, "You owe that innkeeper some money. Marcin? Ring a bell?"

The ferret pursed his lips thoughtfully. He scratched his head. His eyes flicked back to the stoat's face, "I do not know who you speak of." replied Nowles, in a voice full of a rather wavering type of certainty.

"You know very well!" snapped the stoat, in a voice that suggested playing dumb would just get the ferret beaten up. Another thing that helped Nowles come to this conclusion was that one of the stoat's single, huge paws was wrapped around his thin neck. "Have the money?" inquired the stoat, slamming the ferret against the wall.

Hurriedly, Nowles rummaged through his pockets. "Huh," began the ferret as he pulled the pockets out to show they were empty.

"_I must have left it in my other coat_." both the stoat and the ferret recited at the same time, though the stoat's voice was mocking and affected with a strong accent.

"Well, ya better get it by t'mmorow or yer as good as dead." stated the stoat, flashing teeth that didn't even look white in the dark.

"Ehm..." the ferret paused, "Figuratively or literally?" he inquired, mildly confused.

"I... don't know!" snapped the stoat. "Goodbye, Nowles Prosper Nowles." said the stoat and disappeared into the blackness of the city.

The ferret whimpered as he watched fireflies flicker overhead. It wasn't the death threat that worried him. It was what would go on the gravestone. And so, he slunk away into the inky blackness of the night.

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Markum continued trudging along in the dark, his eyes seeking out a town. One of the reasons Markum hadn't found a town yet was because he was the type of traveller who relied on a sixth sense to guide him throught the woods. Actually, it was the only reason.

The moon's rays shone down, lighting up all the trees in a silvery glow. The vole, after many hours of long trekking, suddenly spotted an orange glow through the foliage. He broke into a quiet jog, carefully surveying the situation to make sure he wasn't wandering into enemy territory.

The vole flattened himself against a tree, his two brown eyes watching the beast by the fire. An old otter, nothing more. Relaxing slightly, the vole quietly trotted out into open space, "Hello. 'Scuse me, mind if I join you?" he inquired, politely. He doubted the otter wouldn't let him. He was an old traveller and obviously was still firmly stuck on the idea that if somebeast looked like an ally you should share food with them.

The otter gave Markum a quick, bewildered glance that seemed to ask a question along the lines of 'how'd you get here?'. The expression was gone in a flash and replaced by a face that knew the vole had emerged from the local foliage. "Sure, ya can join me."

The vole was very pleased to note it looked like he'd be getting something to eat soon.

Soon enough, he was drifting to sleep with a full belly and a general content feeling with how everything was turning out.

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A second-in-command planned. Not, as one might take from that sentence, to off the warlord. He drew and wrote out plans feverishly, thinking up new ways to strike the woodlanders a harsh blow. He needed to go after something small enough to be completely obliterated, yet large enough to be taken as a warning.

Exactly the purpose of holts and tribes.

After all, even with a horde this size it was still dangerous. Not because of the holt. That was easy to crush. It was dangerous because of who the holt might be allies with. Or the _many _groups the holt might be allied to.

If he eliminated something big enough to get noticed, however, it was easier to recruit. Beasts came up to you, beasts with their whole lives ahead of them and they said clearly "I want to join the horde.".

But he still couldn't attack his - no, not his, it couldn't be, because he was just a second-in-command. No, they still couldn't attack the warlord's prize - Redwall.

Not yet.

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Blood pooled on the ground where the mouse's head had been smashed in. A dark, thick layer of blood covered the culprit's paws.

The body lay cold and still.

The victim had never suspected.

They never did.

Blood had splashed along in a few dots scattered along the walls. The culprit surveyed the damage a few seconds before disappearing into the shadows, melting in with its background.

101010101010101

All over Mossflower, the sun rose.


	2. Chapter Two: A Dream of Importance

_((A/N: Thank you all reviewers for reviewing! You're all great, wonderful people! ...And, yes, Cowan is one of my favourites too. :) Woohoo to Chapter Two, which is finally up after some difficulties with FFnet.Yay.))_

**Chapter Two: A Dream (of importance)**

**M**arkum had woken up and left the otter with a quick 'thanks' and an even quicker 'goodbye'. He headed off into places unknown relying on gut instinct to pull through and guide him on a path.

Which, of course, is usually the wrong thing to do.

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The horde was moving. Cowan knew that this meant, without a doubt, that he would have to move too. As he watched the horde, he spotted the second-in-command - a scruffy character who everybeast regarded with much suspicion, superstition and general wariness. Then again, everybeast in power warranted a kind of wariness. The thing was, their second-in-command got extra, unwarranted wariness.

This came paw-in-paw with the rumour he never slept. Probably due to the fact he'd never been seen asleep. Those little facts often went paw-in-paw. Cowan knew they were untrue. He knew the second-in-command was a living, breathing, dying creature like the rest of them, but few beasts seemed willing to talk about the second-in-command at all. If they did, they'd cast glances over their shoulder in a rather bothered way.

Not that Cowan talked to many beasts. He did, however, listen.

Unlike most beasts in power, there didn't seem to be any hint of anything _dangerous _about him. He appeared a bit mad to the general population, but not in a 'I'm going to rip your face off' kind of way. No. That would be their cook. The problem with the second-in-command was just how cheerful he was. When beasts saw him ambling along, they stood stock-still.

That was the second-in-command's problem. He _ambled _along.

Second-in-commands just shouldn't amble along.

Of course, Cowan wasn't really _that_ bothered about the second-in-command. As in, not bothered at all. It was just nice to have something to think about on a march that would take up most of the day.

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Sibley hadn't gotten much sleep the night before and was now suffering as a result of it. To top it off she was feeling rather jumpy and had that continuous feeling of waiting for something. That may have been why she hadn't spotted Laurel's strange behaviour beforepaw.

The mousemaid was lost in a track of deep thought. She hadn't talked all morning and now she turned to the squirrel, "Sibley?"

The squirrelmaid jumped in her seat, "Huh? What is it?"

"Well..." Laurel began, "I had a dream last night."

Sibley blinked. She nodded, her smile asking 'your point being?', her actions - including the way she was prodding her breakfast - showing that she wasn't very interested in this news. Her voice just managed to feign some sort of interest, no matter how forced, that inquired, "Oh, really?"

The mousemaid shot a glance around to see if anybeast was listening while she took no sign of Sibley's signs of extreme disinterest, "It was about Martin the Warrior."

"Oh?" replied the dubious squirrelmaid, raising a brow.

"He said we had to..."

"Leave?" guessed Sibley.

"Yes! To stop a horde!" replied the mousemaid, getting excited and casting more rapid glances to make sure nobeast had heard her when she raised her voice.

"Ho, yes. Right. Sure." replied the squirrelmaid, with a laugh. Sibley was a bit more dubious about mice flying into beast's dreams and telling them to go on quests.

"He said we had to stop it before it gets too big!" she grated in a low voice.

"Oh. Sure. Why us?' asked Sibley. She may have been feeling jumpy, but she wouldn't latch onto just any reason.

"Because on the way there you have to make allies with all the wrong beasts. Because if the horde gets too large by the time it reaches Redwall, Redwall will fail. Because Redwallers can't be sent out to fight a horde because they aren't strong enough. Because they'll _die._ Because Redwallers aren't prepared for dishonourable, bloody, all-out conflicts. Because if anybeast else in Redwall knows about it, word will leak out and - no matter what - there is going to be a huge loss to Redwall." spoke the mousemaid lowly, face dead serious.

Sibley had never see her friend like this. Her friend was usually anything but serious - she was a light-hearted sort of beast who cheered you up and relied in dumb luck and an innocent trusting nature to pull her through life. "So, we should leave without telling anybeast?" inquired the squirrelmaid, hesitantly.

"Yes." replied the mousemaid, firmly.

Both began discussing their plan of departure in hushed tones.

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Nowles woke up in an alley. He was used to that sort of thing and used to not knowing how he wound up in alleys. While this would bother most beasts, Nowles just accepted the fact he'd probably gotten drunk on half-empty bottles of wine that had been thrown away and he naturally assumed he'd passed out.

He'd be right.

The ferret shaded his eyes slightly by pulling down his hat. He noted with a tad of pride that in Derge the sun never fully shined. A constant layer of suffocating mist seemed to swirl around the sun. With a pang somewhere in or near the general vicinity of his heart was a sense of loss that he'd soon be leaving the city. Of course, one day he'd be famous and renowned and would come back to pay his debts.

Right now, he'd decided to avoid getting his head pummeled in and hit the road.

He went off to fish his breakfast out of some thrown away half-bits of food that collected in a pile near here, then head off to places unknown - really, he had no sense of direction outside of Derge.

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Dark blood flowed out of the stomach wound. The jagged wound was ripped across the stomach of the stoat.

The culprit let a laugh escape him. It wasn't a particularly deranged laugh. It didn't border on 'criminally insane'. It was a completely ordinary laugh.

The dark liquid's stench - sickeningly sweet - filled the general area. Of course, there was nobeast else in the general area. There was, however, a town near here and the culprit really didn't want to waste time laughing at a dead body. Now that the stoat was dead, there wasn't any fun to be had. It was the chase that fueled him here, but there was nothing left to do but fetch himself a cup of tea and kill somebeast else on the 'morrow.

Though, he found the victims just kept getting easier and easier...

He really didn't mind.


End file.
